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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247912">Collisions</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain'>CalamityCain</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Jesus Christ Superstar - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Fights, Hate Sex, M/M, One Shot, Relationship Problems, Rough Sex</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 23:54:32</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,789</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27247912</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalamityCain/pseuds/CalamityCain</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>It seems like trying to fix their tempestuous relationship through therapy was a disaster. Or was it?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jesus Christ/Judas Iscariot</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>23</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Collisions</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this whole thing on impulse because I was horny for some angry sex. Not one of my best works, but eh. (I blame Saffiaan, as I always do)</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p> </p><p>Couple therapy had gone about as well as expected for two people with their particular clashing temperaments and history of breakups, makeups and wars that stretched on for months. Perhaps he had been too young when he fell in love with the man whose gaze of cold blue fire could kill as much as it could speak of love in a language beyond words. Perhaps he had never learnt to navigate the storms within those eyes that glared in silence after the long relentless tirade that had played out between them as they sunk their nails into the therapist’s sofa in an effort to sheathe their claws. They had ended up at separate ends of that sofa when it became a barrier keeping them safe from each other’s wrath.</p><p>He knew he must have gone too far when it was Judas who lapsed into stony silence after the session finally ended. Judas was always the one pounding at his door when he slammed it wordlessly, the who broke down his walls, time after time. But now he was the one longing for the other to say something. Anything.</p><p>The quiet stretched on like a dusty, desolate road, as empty he felt after the maelstrom had finally drawn to a close. They were both hollow, dried out. He stopped ten feet away from Judas’ dark blue Mazda, knowing he could not subject himself to the long ride home.</p><p>“I’ll get my own ride,” he said before walking away. His voice sounded like a stranger’s to his own ears. Judas did not reply. If a tiny part of him hoped a hand would reach out to grab his, to stop him from leaving, he hoped in vain. He heard the engine rev and the car fade into the distance.</p><p>It would perhaps be best for them to give each other space, after all. But that space was hard to come by. Arriving home separately did not help him avoid his beloved when he opened the door to see Judas perched on the sofa, the aroma from his steaming mug of freshly brewed dark roast filling the air. They swung their eyes from each other reflexively, although not before Jesus registered how unfairly attractive his boyfriend looked in nothing but faded sweatpants. Even in his wrecked state, he could not help but appreciate the sight of those lean, sculpted arms, the ink adorning them creeping upward over shapely shoulders he was in no mood to enjoy. He passed by quietly and was heading to the bedroom when Judas finally said: “We’re supposed to stop avoiding things that make us uncomfortable, you know.”</p><p>“All I’m avoiding is another fight. I think we’ve both had enough for today.”</p><p>“Well, you can’t avoid me.” Judas’ voice was as flat and drained as his. “So feel free to leave until you can stand to be near me again.”</p><p>Amazing how a few words never failed to dredge up the hurt inside him he thought had been purged. “Do you<em> try</em> to make everything you say as hurtful as possible?”</p><p>“No more than you try not to face the truth. Which is all I’ve ever given you. Even when it’d be easier to lie.”</p><p>Jesus knew what he said wasn’t wrong; yet nothing about it felt right. Or surely it wouldn’t make his fingers curl into fists until his nails were cutting into his palm, almost hard enough to draw blood. <em>Surely</em> it wouldn’t kill Judas not to be abrasive for ten minutes. Not after they had already yelled themselves raw in his therapist’s office. The fresh rush of anger built up in his chest until he swore he would go mad if he didn’t do something to let it out. In desperation, he ripped one of the framed vintage vinyls off the wall where Judas’ valuable collection was lovingly arranged and threw it to the floor. The shattering of glass made his boyfriend leap to his feet, coffee splashing all over the terrazzo.</p><p>“What the FUCK did you do that for??” In the space of three steps he was in Jesus’ face and grabbing his shoulders, shaking him as he repeated the question in a furious snarl. Jesus knew he should not withhold his answer just for the bitter satisfaction of making Judas suffer. But old habits died hard. It wasn’t until the latter slammed him against the nearest unoccupied wall that he replied: “For everything. Every awful thing you’ve said just to hurt me or force me to rise to your bait.” He shoved back, pushing hard enough to knock Judas back. Knowing he was as wrong as he was right, hating himself for having played a part in the grand ruin of their relationship, unable to do anything about it. “I swallowed your bullshit time and time again, until I became the difficult <em>bitch</em> who lashes out because I couldn’t take anymore. And I’m sick of it!” The ugliness in his voice shocked him, and he could see the shock mirrored in Judas’ face before it was twisted by an influx of wrath.</p><p>“<em>Don’t.</em> You goddamn.<em> Dare</em> play the martyr again!” He was thrown against the wall again, this time knocking the breath from his lungs. “Don’t you dare look me in the face and pretend you’ve never said anything nasty. Don’t you <em>dare!</em>”</p><p>The fiery gaze threatened to devour him, to sink into him a thousand cuts like shards of glass. His heart was pounding furiously. He had never felt more alive.</p><p>He meant to drive his elbow into Judas; instead he found himself pushed against the bare chest, feeling its heat suffuse his own body. And then their lips found each other – not so much kissing as pushing, panting and spilling unpretty sounds full of pain and love and need. His nails were digging into those leanly muscled arms, urging them to pull him closer and take everything he had to give, by force if necessary.</p><p>“Go ahead,” he whispered raggedly. “Do your worst.”</p><p>In response, Judas drew back and slapped him hard as he had never done before. The other hand still gripped Jesus’ arm, steadying him as he swayed. Then they were kissing again – properly this time, albeit with a roughness that left him dizzy. Judas fed on his whimpers while pushing the hard bulge of his arousal against Jesus’ own. They were both hard to the point of aching, not knowing when exactly it had happened.</p><p>He was glad he was wearing a t-shirt rather than one of his regular button-downs; Judas would have ripped it off, buttons and all, in his state of rage-fuelled lust. He did not need to strip for Judas to push up the hem and manhandle the expanse of skin beneath with fingers griping hard enough to leave bruises.</p><p>A quick fumble through a nearby drawer later, he found himself being thrown over a sofa arm, his jeans and briefs pulled down just enough for Judas to kick his thighs apart. One hand pinned him down and pushed his face into the cushion until he was nearly suffocating as another drove well-slicked fingers into his opening. Judas was not gentle in his preparations – not this time. But he also knew how much Jesus was capable of taking. Which, as he had found out through experience, was more than most would give him credit for.</p><p>There were times when Jesus craved tenderness; this was not one of them. His involuntary gasp when Judas grabbed a fistful of his hair and yanked painfully was the kind that urged the other on. The remaining hand kept his arms pinned behind his back so that he was immobilised, pushed down and spread out and with no choice but to take every brutal thrust assaulting him, each one slamming hard enough that he felt it in his spine. He struggled just to feel the grip tightening in a way that frightened and thrilled him – to know that the man he loved was entirely capable of terrible things. It was all the more reason he <em>needed</em> this onslaught; to know that Judas would always stop short of truly harming him, of doing something truly regrettable.</p><p>At some point the hand gripping his hair released its hold and slid down to his swollen sex, stroking roughly and methodically until he writhed and cried out and climaxed messily all over the cushions. Judas came soon after with an animal grunt, not pulling out until he had spilt every last drop inside Jesus.</p><p>He was barely aware of being released, or how he ended up in a heap on the floor, his t-shirt hiked up and his jeans still pulled down to his knees. He thought at first that Judas had left until he turned to see the latter leaning against the base of the sofa, staring blankly. His fingers were twitching slightly in a way that indicated he was craving a smoke.</p><p>After a few seconds the eyes came to focus on Jesus, who kicked off his jeans as he wiped himself off as best he could and pulled his briefs back up. The shredded remnants of pride was all that stood in their way. Jesus longed to close the distance between them.</p><p>He saw the briefest twitch of Judas’ hand reaching for his, hesitating halfway. It was all the signal he needed. As soon as his head landed on Judas’ shoulder, an arm curled around him, filling him with a surge of warmth so sudden as to be painful. A sob rose from his chest and escaped before he could bite it back. Judas said nothing, but shifted his body around him until his legs were flanking Jesus’ own, both arms holding him securely as he trembled and heaved until the last of the tears had left him. “I’m such an idiot,” he whispered with a shaky laugh.</p><p>“Yes, you are.” Judas pressed a kiss into his neck. “How else would you end up with another idiot?”</p><p>“Mmm. I guess therapy wasn’t such a bad idea after all.” He paused. “I’m sorry about the vinyl. I don’t think it’s damaged…just the frame. I’ll get it fixed.”</p><p>"Well. It’s not the first thing we’ve broken. Or the worst, for that matter.”</p><p><em>And probably not the last,</em> Jesus couldn’t help thinking as he let his head fall back so Judas could mark him with a pleasantly stinging trail down his neck – as if they needed any more proof that they belonged to one another, and always would. With each separation and collision they would wreck each other only as much as they could make each other whole again. It was far from ideal; far from healthy. But for now, it was enough.</p><p> </p>
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